Deal Breaker: Billionaire Bosses

by Tara Leigh

  I cringed at the vulgar expression, but Derrick snickered and tossed my phone at the nearest garbage can. It bounced off the metal, a spider web of cracks traveling across the glass, and landed face-up on the sidewalk. As if on cue, it lit up again. “Isn’t that sweet? A man who doesn’t give up.” He shrugged. “Might as well leave it there. Maybe some chick will pick it up and soothe your fiancé’s broken heart when he finds out you’ve married me instead.”

  A fresh wave of pain slammed into my chest at the thought of anyone else soothing Nash but me. But I didn’t have time to fixate on it, because Derrick was hurrying me out of the park.

  “Come on, we have to get to the City Clerk’s office before they close, and they’re all the way downtown.”

  “C—City Clerk?” I stuttered, knowing exactly what his intentions were, but needing confirmation anyway.

  “Yeah.” As we emerged onto Central Park South, Derrick gnashed his teeth at the congestion of the streets and grabbed for my hand. “Come on. Taking the subway will be much faster than a cab in this mess. If we don’t get our marriage license today, we can’t get married tomorrow.”

  My stomach turned over on itself. If today had gone as planned, I would have been at the City Clerk’s office with Nash to get our license this afternoon.

  The irony was cold comfort.

  Nash

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” How the hell had Nixie managed to slip away from Jay again?

  This time I didn’t know whether to fear for her safety, or worry she’d decided to leave me. Or maybe Nixie was just sick of having her every move shadowed and wanted to be alone for a while.

  In hindsight, I should have gone to see her after Duncan and I had hammered out the basics of the NetworkTech acquisition, but I figured I would give Nixie some time before attempting to explain myself. And it wasn’t like I’d gone home for a night’s sleep. As soon as Duncan left my office for his hotel, I called in my team and we’d worked through the night. With only a few days left in the fiscal year, countless tax implications and corporate filings needed to be addressed.

  My veins were already buzzing from too much caffeine when Jay called, and his news sent my pulse into overdrive. He’d caught the medallion number of the cab Nixie jumped into, which was the only reason I hadn’t fired him on the spot. Katherine, God bless her, managed to contact the driver and he told us where he’d dropped Nixie off, and that he’d watched her enter the Park via Center Drive.

  Given the barricades around Trump Tower and the holiday crowds, getting uptown was slow going. After what felt like forever, we finally ran into the park at the Fifty-Ninth and Sixth entrance together. Why had Nixie ditched Jay just to go to Central Park? And why this entrance? Whenever I took the Madison and Parker to the Zoo, we walked in through the Fifth Avenue entrance.

  Spotting a sign for the Wollman Rink, I remembered Eva saying something about the twins having a field trip this morning. But if Eva had invited Nixie to meet up with them, why wouldn’t she have had Jay take her?

  Scanning the ice, I didn’t see Madison or Parker, and I didn’t see Eva either. I was still calling and texting Nixie’s number when Jay’s quick inhale got my attention. “Boss, he said, pointing at the ground.

  I followed the direction of his finger to see my name flash across a cracked screen. Nixie’s phone. The panic I’d managed to keep at bay rose up in my throat, threatening to choke me.

  Slowly, I lowered my own mobile and ended the call, putting it into my pocket and reaching for Nixie’s discarded one. Her battery was running low and a dozen cracks zig-zagged across the screen, but I was able to get into her most recent activity. Thank God Nixie still hadn’t installed a password. No calls, only texts to and from an unknown number. I scrolled up to the start of the chain, an involuntary hiss whistling through my teeth as a picture of Madison and Parker popped up on the screen. “Son of a bitch,” I barked, taking off at a run the way we came in.

  Not that it mattered, traffic was practically at a standstill.

  Once we finally returned to my office, no doubt racking up a thousand dollars in fines from red light traffic cameras, I headed immediately to the suite of office beside mine, slapping my hand against the palm print reader outside the locked door.

  A few minutes later, Nixie’s phone was being downloaded into one of my firm’s computers and analyzed by an employee with advanced degrees from MIT, Caltech, and Stanford, and contacts with the FBI and CIA. He assured me that he would have every bit of information that could be gleaned from her device within an hour.

  In the office next door was my lead investigator. I’d called him from the car, and he was ready for me. “I had an alert put on Derrick Attwood and Nixie Rowland, separately.” He slid a piece of paper across his desk toward me. “Look what just came through.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Nixie

  The City Clerk didn’t lift her head as Derrick handed over the paperwork we’d hastily filled out in the waiting room, along with the wrinkled check he pulled from his pocket. I had to look away as she input our information into the computer hulking on her desk, each click of the keyboard like a hammer sealing my fate. The cavernous reception room was filled with at least a dozen other couples, in various stages of pre-marital bliss, bent over clipboards with their arms intertwined, sides pressed together as if superglued. Bright chandeliers hung overhead every few feet, shining on polished floors of green and ecru marble tiles. Leather benches lined walls that had also been tiled in marble.

  Scattered on every surface were brochures extolling the virtues of a city hall wedding—”Watch out Vegas, Everything’s Better in New York!”—and detailing the recent extensive renovations. I could have recited it verbatim. Normally I wouldn’t have bothered reading the tri-fold piece of obvious promotion, but since my other option was to make conversation with Derrick or any of the lovebirds surrounding us, I read every word and studied every photo. Multiple times.

  The new Marriage Bureau was impressive, and austere. And despite the twelve million dollar overhaul, probably the least romantic setting I could imagine.

  “You’re all set to marry as soon as this time tomorrow,” the Clerk with close cropped, curling hair and a heavy Long Island accent said, stamping our papers and pushing them back across the gleaming white surface of her desk. Her tweezed eyebrows lifted as she glowered at Derrick. “Now just remember,” she added, “happy wife, happy life,” before turning to me with a conspiratorial wink. “Trying to do my part to lower the divorce rate. Not all men have the sense to listen, but I always try.”

  For a moment I considered confessing the truth—that I was only here because I hadn’t thought of a way out. Yet. Derrick wasn’t holding onto me anymore, I could walk away. But if Pappi was in danger and giving up my inheritance would keep him safe, walking away wasn’t an option.

  I dredged up a weary smile. “No such thing as a lost cause, right?”

  She gave a derisive huff. “My sister in law works at the Matrimonial Support office just down the street—where you go to file for divorce. Now there—that place is filled with lost causes. But here—” She waved her hand around the renovated room that could have been inspired by the lobby of a Las Vegas casino. “I like to think of all my couples as taking their first steps toward happily ever after.”

  There was genuine pride on the clerk’s face as she summarized her role, and guilt thrummed through my bloodstream like lead. Derrick and I were not now, nor would we ever be, one of her happy couples. If I’d been here with Nash, I might have at least had hope for a happy ending. Or maybe not. Not after what I’d learned last night. Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded, unable to say anything else.

  Derrick mumbled a gruff word of thanks and hustled me out of the room, his booted feet slapping at the marble.

  Ten minutes later we were checking into a nearby downtown hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Attwood. I pressed my palms against my stomach as it threatened revolt and Derrick glanced down at
me, his eyes brewing with warning.

  Once the door to the elevator closed on us, he raked a hand through hair that had been too long without a barber. “Can you stop flashing your sad doe eyes at everyone who looks your way? You think I want to be doing this?”

  As the car jerked upward, I turned away from the flashing numbers on the wall panel and looked straight at Derrick. “I really need to make a call, arrange for someone to feed my dog, take her out for a walk.” Get a message to Nash.

  He scoffed. “So she’ll shit on the floor. I’m sure Knight can pay someone to clean it up.”

  “Please—”

  Derrick’s jaw clenched as the doors opened with a jarring buzz. “Enough. He knows you have a dog, and that you’re gone. She’ll be fine.”

  I got out first and stepped aside. Derrick was right, Nash would make sure Kismet was taken care of. I would have to take care of myself.

  Derrick led the way to our home for the night. His walk was so different than Nash’s, more like the loping gait of a gangly teenager than the smooth stride of a confident power-broker. I was still upset with Nash, but I knew without the slightest sliver of doubt that he never would have gotten into a mess like this. Was it too much to hope that he was planning on telling me the truth of his motives before our dinner? Because the more time I spent with Derrick, the more I realized they were nothing alike.

  In Bermuda, Reina told me that Wall Street players were gamblers, too. But Nash would never make a bet he couldn’t afford to lose. Unfortunately, Derrick didn’t have the self-control to know when to get up from the table.

  Once in our room, Derrick immediately turned on the television and sat at the edge of the bed with the remote in his hand, flipping through channels until he stopped on a basketball game. Catching sight of his face, I stared, incredulous. “Please don’t tell me you have money riding on this?”

  Derrick blinked, but didn’t tear his eyes from the screen. “Just a little. It’s no big deal.”

  “Who even gives you credit anymore?” I cried.

  Instead of an answer, he shushed me, jumping to his feet a moment later to yell at the referee through the screen. Again, an image of Nash sprang to my mind. He was probably looking for me right now. An hour ago I’d been furious with him, but now? Now my emotions had softened. Remembering the cracked phone I’d abandoned in Central Park, I wondered if Nash had found it. Or had someone picked it up and answered his call?

  Nash, my knight in shining armor who insisted his cape was black despite it being as white as his perfect teeth. He was looking for me, I was sure of it. But the only thing that made me angrier than sitting by Derrick’s side, watching him berate the refs from a mattress, was waiting helplessly to be rescued.

  Truthfully, even if Derrick got his hands on my inheritance tomorrow, the chance of him using it to pay off his debts and not get in deep again were slim to none. There would always be the next sure thing, the unbeatable hand, the big score that he couldn’t resist. Derrick would never stop gambling, and handing him my inheritance would be about as effective as dumping it in the Hudson River. A complete waste.

  And Pappi would never be safe.

  Derrick sat back down, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. I was still standing in the corridor that led to the bedroom, a bathroom to one side, closet on the other. “Mind if I take a shower?” I asked, careful to keep my tone nonchalant.

  “Go ahead,” he snapped, not even glancing my way. Having sat through hundreds of games with Derrick, I knew it was only a matter of time before his whooping or cursing began in earnest. When that happened, he wouldn’t notice if a bomb went off, unless the TV lost power. I turned on the water, and waited.

  It didn’t take long, not even ten minutes. From what I could tell, a fight broke out and a key player from the team Derrick had bet money on was ejected. Derrick went ballistic, ranting and raving at the wide screen attached to the wall just two feet from his reddened face.

  I was out the door and down the hall in seconds, Derrick’s unbroken tirade still ringing in my ears. Choosing stairs over the elevator, I sprinted down the dozen flights, my footsteps pounding faster than my heartbeat.

  After speed-walking across the marble floor of the lobby, I dodged cars and cabs and crossed the street to Columbus Park. Once inside the gates, I increased my pace and blended in with the late afternoon joggers running along the footpath. The park was fairly small, and filled with elderly Asian men bent over games of mah-jongg, women pushing strollers, and street performers hoping to draw an afternoon crowd. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder, I exited the park on the other side and continued jogging in the direction of the courthouse. The Chambers Street subway station was just a few blocks away.

  Outside the City Clerk’s office building, a couple was posing for pictures beside the plaque for the Marriage Bureau, their happy laughter biting at my heels as I rushed past them. I had one foot in the crosswalk when a black Lincoln Navigator careened around the corner and screeched to a halt right outside the entrance.

  Nash jumped out, followed by Jay, and ran inside. With my heart in my throat, I resisted the instinct to scream Nash’s name and take off running toward him. Instead I kept walking until the sidewalk gave way to a set of stairs, brushing away the tears falling unchecked down my face. Hot, stale air rushed up at me as I slid my MetroCard through the turnstile reader and found a place on the platform.

  I couldn’t leap into Nash’s arms. Not yet. Just because he was wealthy and powerful, it didn’t mean I should dump all my problems squarely on his shoulders. Was I glad he’d followed me into that dark alley back on September 11? Yes. But I hated the rut we’d been in ever since. This pattern of me rushing headlong into trouble and then standing idly by while he came to my rescue had to end. And it was going to end today.

  * * *

  To most, New York’s Penn Station was Grand Central Station’s buck-toothed, ugly stepchild. It did, however, have an advantage that I appreciated today—the low-ceiling underground tunnels were like narrow, crowded catacombs. I spent the time until my train blending in with larger groups, occasionally ducking into the tiny storefronts hawking overpriced souvenirs and snacks, checking for Derrick’s familiar face in the sea of commuters.

  Forty minutes after leaving Penn, I arrived in Manhasset, the affluent Long Island suburb where I’d spent half my childhood, wrapping my coat around me for the short walk to Pappi’s house. The clapboard colonial was located in the middle of the block; black shutters and a red front door giving the simple white facade a welcoming appearance.

  From the moment I entered his house sixteen years ago, that’s exactly what Pappi had done for me, too. He’d welcomed me into his life, into his heart. And I’d let Derrick chase me away. Standing on the sidewalk, chilled to the bone, I felt like a coward.

  Pappi had never treated me like I was intruding on his time with Derrick. The opposite, actually. His wife had left him and Derrick not long before, and somehow he’d stepped into the role of both mother and father to the two of us. We became a family.

  My stomach churning, I dragged one foot in front of the other until I made it to the steps leading to his porch. My hands were tucked into fists inside my pockets, shoulders hunched forward against the gusting wind. The air had a tingle to it, like the first snowfall of the year was imminent. I didn’t have a chance to ring the bell before the door was thrown open and Pappi was there, his arms extended in welcome, a warm grin splitting his face in two.

  I hurtled into his arms, my hands wrapping around him as I nudged my forehead into his rounded shoulders. Without a word exchanged, Pappi closed the door and drew me into a warm hug. “Sshhh,” he finally whispered, “Let’s go sit so you can tell me about all of your adventures.”

  Tears blurred my vision as I pulled away. “You don’t hate me for leaving?”

  He set his palms on my cheeks, thumbs swiping at the rivers running down them. “You know I can never stay mad at this face.”


  I choked out a laugh. No matter what teenaged prank I’d pulled, usually at Derrick’s urging, that had always been Pappi’s response. Which isn’t to say he’d let me run wild. There were always consequences, but never anger.

  “What do you say I make us some hot chocolate?” He raised bushy eyebrows. “Maybe with a shot of Kahlua?”

  Nodding, I followed him into the living room. A fire was burning in the hearth, and there were papers scattered on the desk facing the window. I waved a hand in its direction. “I take it you saw me from here?”

  “Yes. And for a minute I thought you were going to turn tail and run back in the direction you came from.”

  I ducked my head sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Nerves.”

  He steered me toward the overstuffed chair closest to the mantel. “You park your nerves right here while I go make our drinks.”

  Sinking into the paisley velvet, I ran my hands over well-worn fabric that had seen many a wintry afternoon marked by hot chocolate and s’mores, staring into the flames and seeing only memories. Good ones.

  From the kitchen, I heard Pappi opening and closing cabinets, pots clanking, and the low rumble of his voice. I smiled, having forgotten his habit of talking to himself. He returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies. “Thin Mints and Samoas? I haven’t had these since I was in the Girl Scouts.”

  Pappi grinned. “A new family moved in next door. Their daughter came knocking and I couldn’t resist.”

  I laughed. Pappi had singlehandedly made me one of the top sellers every year. I think he donated most of the boxes to the local firehouse, but we always had enough Thin Mints and Samoas in our kitchen to last all year. “I’m glad there’s someone to supply you with your sugar fix.”

  “You may be,” he grimaced, spreading his hands on a belly that had grown significantly larger over the past few years, “but my doctor isn’t too keen. More fruits and vegetables, he says. Less meat and sweets. What’s the fun in that?”